


Haunting at the House on the Hill

by FluffySherlollyFan119



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Exploring a Haunted House, F/M, Halloween, It gets a little scary, Molly does, Sherlock doesn't believe in ghosts, Spooky, They have a bet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffySherlollyFan119/pseuds/FluffySherlollyFan119
Summary: Molly just moved in with Sherlock and needs to find a shorter walk from the hospital. Sherlock suggests going by the old Garrison Manor, but Molly believes it's haunted. Sherlock thinks she's being preposterous - but neither one of them knows the half of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always I would like to thank my beta MetricJenn for correcting my mistakes and going through this with a fine toothed comb. The events in this story were inspired by a mix of games, films, books, and real life events which I've experienced myself. I'll leave you to decide which.

Sherlock heard the front door opening and then immediately closing before he heard Molly’s distinct walking pattern on the stairs. He adjusted the focus on his microscope as she climbed onto the landing.

“Sherlock, I’m home.” She called as she opened the door into the living room. Sherlock got up from his chair at the kitchen table and pushed open the sliding door separating the two rooms.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that. Welcome home.” He beamed before bending his head down to kiss her. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“The walk here took longer than I thought. No wonder you always take the cab to Bart’s. I’ll need to get new shoes.” She laughed.

“That, my dear, is because you don’t know London as well as I do.” He smiled as Molly took a seat in her red tartan armchair and Sherlock pulled out a map. “That’s Bart’s over there, and this is the route you took today, right?” He asked pointing to the hospital on the map and then the path she had taken. Molly nodded. “What you need to do is walk in the opposite direction, past the station, turn that corner and then it’s downhill all the way to the beginning of Baker Street. It’s not really shorter so much as easier.” He pointed out.

“Is that past the old Garrison Manor?” Molly asked, pointing to where she thought the house was.

“Yes.” He nodded.

“I don’t know. That’s not a particularly safe part of the city.” Molly argued.

“It’s perfectly safe. Do you really think I would suggest a route that wasn’t safe?”

“I just think it would be safer going the other way. Tea?” She asked getting up and moving towards the kitchen.

“Why are you lying?” He deduced but he was confused as to why she would lie to him. There was still so much he couldn’t deduce about her.

Molly shrugged trying to play it off. “I would prefer going the other way.” She turned on the kettle and started preparing her mug for the tea.

“Lie.” He pointed out calmly. “You’re nervous about something but you’re not telling me what. I know you trust me implicitly yet you won’t share what’s bothering you with me. Why?”

Molly sighed. “You’ll just say it’s stupid and it probably is but there’s absolutely nothing you can say to convince me that I am wrong.”

“I promise you the word stupid shall not leave my lips.” Sherlock put his hands up.

Molly nodded and returned to making her tea. When she was done she turned around and rested against the counter, sipping at her mug.

“People think that house is haunted, and I choose to believe them.”

“That’s…” Sherlock started, stopping when Molly raised an eyebrow at him over the rim of her mug. “… superstitious. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“See, I knew you’d think it was stupid.” Molly groaned.

“It’s not  _ stupid _ .” He got up and wrapped his hands around her waist. “Ridiculous, yes, but a far more rational fear than cockroaches, I think.”

Molly mock-slapped his chest. “I have a childhood trauma and the one I saw last week charged at me.”

“It didn’t charge at you and I wouldn’t call a cockroach crawling on your hand when you were seven, a trauma.” Sherlock teased her.

“Sherlock, last week I saw a cockroach crawling up the wall, it looked at me, came at me, you killed it and I had nightmares about the filthy things for three nights, that’s practically a trauma.”

“True. I stand corrected, I suppose your fear of cockroaches is infinitely more logical than fear of ghosts. They don’t exist so you can walk past the Garrison Manor without worry.” Sherlock twisted his argument around.

“I’ll take the cab and let the cabbie decide which way to go. How about that?” Molly decided, pushing him off with a smile and going back to the living room with her tea.

**********

The next day, Molly was working the evening shift when Sherlock walked into the lab, as always, making as big an entrance as possible, making Molly jump.

“Sherlock, I swear if you don’t stop that I’m going to hog all the sheets again  _ and _ withhold sex for two weeks.” She warned.

“You wouldn’t last two days.” Sherlock threw her a cocky smile as he took a seat on his usual stool.

“I have a steady supply of batteries and Ann Summers just got this new vibrator that has amazing reviews; I’ve been thinking about getting it.” Molly countered. She couldn’t help the devilish grin that spread across her face.

“You’d get bored with it. No vibrator’s as good as the real thing.” Sherlock sniffed, setting up his experiments.

“Trust me, the ones that I have can be better than the real thing. The one I will be getting has  _ thrust action _ . I almost  _ want _ you to burst into the lab again and startle me just so I can have an excuse to buy the damn thing.”

“Fine, no more startling.” He got up and went to stand next to her. He snaked an arm around her front, squeezing her shoulder and dropping a kiss on her cheek. “Now please, stop talking about  _ anything _ thrusting into you or I’ll take you home and make sure nothing and no-one will be able to best me in bed.” He said into her ear.

“I have tomorrow off.” She winked at him before both of them returned their work. They worked in companionable silence for the next three hours, occasionally helping each other when it was needed. When Molly’s shift had ended Sherlock helped her clean up and helped her put on her coat before they left the hospital hand-in-hand. They started chatting about dinner and Sherlock’s current cases and experiments. Molly was about to suggest a new pizza place she had recently tried with her friends, when they turned a corner and she noticed where they were, stopping in her tracks.

“Molly, what’s wrong?” Sherlock asked.

“Are you kidding me? We were just talking about this yesterday. I told you I didn’t want to go this way.” She was pissed that he would try to trick her this way.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Molly. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He insisted, trying to pull her forward a bit.

Molly decided to play her card. “That place is probably crawling with cockroaches.” She argued.

“I have big shoes, I can kill them for you.” He reassured. “Come on, it will be fun.” He nudged her forward again.

“But…” She started to argue, trying to come up with an excuse that would stop him pestering her about this.

“I bet I can prove that ghosts don’t exist.” It was an offhanded remark. But the confident git knew it would get her to play along.

“People have been trying for literally centuries. I bet I have a bigger chance of making you believe than you have of making me not.” Molly snorted.

“Okay, then. First one to convince the other wins.” Sherlock started leading her down the hill towards the house.

“Win what, though? I think that makes a difference.” Molly pointed out.

“I think the winner should decide that, no? Makes it interesting for both of us.” He suggested as they walked down the hill. Silence fell between them again as they got closer to the house. “Ready?” Sherlock asked when they reached the gate. Molly nodded and he pushed the gate open and it fell back with a loud and eerie metallic shriek. The sound made Molly shudder inside but she didn’t flinch on the outside.

Sherlock led the way into the front garden, crossing it and climbing the few front steps and pulling out his tools as he knelt in front of the door. Molly followed cautiously, her eyes darting around the dead garden in case something other than leaves or twigs moved.

She crossed the garden slowly and climbed the first step. She could see they were made out of faded red tiles, or maybe they were so covered in years of dust that their true colour couldn’t be seen anymore. The curved edges of the stairs were chipped in different places and Molly was careful to avoid stepping on them just in case she lost her footing. Sherlock successfully picked the lock and looked up proudly at Molly before holding out a hand to her in a welcoming gesture. She took it, holding her breath as she climbed the stairs and asking herself what she was doing.

The reception hall was huge, dusty and dark. Despite the lack of light, Molly could see how beautiful it would be if it had to be returned to it’s original splendour. The large staircase in the middle branched out in more stairs and canopies on the side that went around the entire hall acting like a balcony looking into the foyer below it, before the stairs continued higher up to the third floor. The columns on either side of the hall led to a set of doors which Molly assumed would lead to something like the ballroom or the dining room. The cream tiles were indistinguishable under the dust, as was the red carpet on the stairs. The gold plated banisters had lost their gleam, as had the large crystal chandelier that was just above them, and she was almost astonished at the intricate cobwebs that had been produced around the crystals which shuddered at the new breeze that had been introduced into the hall and shimmered in the street light outside.

“Wow.” Molly breathed. Sherlock made a disgusted sound as he followed her line of sight. “Problem?” She smiled at him.

“Cobwebs. Disgusting.” Sherlock shrugged. “They get every where and you can’t get rid of them. They’re the only reason I allow Mrs Hudson to clean.” He explained.

“It’s okay to admit you’re scared of something silly like cobwebs, Sherlock.” Molly giggled.

“Down, Dr Hooper. Let’s get to exploring. Here.” Sherlock handed her a torch, taking out one of his own and turning it on. “Shall we start with the door on the right, the one on the left or upstairs?” He asked her, shining the light on each one of the directions he mentioned.

“Hmm. How about we start from the attic and work our way down to the basement?” She suggested.

“How do you know if there’s an attic  _ or _ a basement?” He wondered, looking at he with squinted eyes.

“It’s an old London house so there’s probably a basement used as an old kitchen and servant’s hall and if that’s true then the attic was used as sleeping quarters for the servants. Which also means there’s back stairs connecting the two and each floor in between.” She said proudly.

“Very good. You’re getting better at this, Molly. Okay, let’s start with the upstairs.” Sherlock said leading the way. “Try to step into my footprints so there’s only one pair.” He suggested, looking back at her.

Molly had to roll her eyes. “Ghosts don’t leave footprints Sherlock.” She started following his larger footprints.

“Actually, it’s to kick up less dust, but do you have any proof to substantiate that claim?”

“Ghosts pass through walls and occasionally float above the ground, have you  _ never _ watched a horror movie in your life?”

“Nope.” He said popping the ‘p’ as he looked around the dust covered walls and into the cobwebbed corners.

“Okay, but the first thing we’re watching when we get back home is Ghostbusters. The old  _ and  _ the new one. We’ll do Rocky Horror tomorrow.” Molly told him.

“I don’t think I want to know what that is.” Sherlock muttered as they continued climbing up the stairs

“No, but what I can tell you is that you’ll probably not look at a German sausage the same way for the next month.” Molly giggled.

“What are you -” Sherlock was about to ask when the door slammed shut on them, making both of them jump.

“Oh my God.” Molly squeaked.

“Relax Molly. It’s just the wind.” Sherlock reassured her.

“Sherlock that looks like a pretty heavy door.” Molly whined.

“Age has probably deteriorated the inside which makes it easier.” He explained.

There was another loud bump from another room somewhere upstairs but instead of heading back towards the front door as Molly would have liked, Sherlock decided to head further up the stairs. Molly followed unwillingly, deciding to focus instead on the prize she would ask for once she won for making Sherlock believe in ghosts.

The attic turned out to be more than Sherlock had bargained for. They found 32 identical beds, which according to Sherlock were far too small to belong to adults. The creepiest part was that they were all full of skeletons.

“One skeleton for each bed. What do you think Dr Hooper?”  Sherlock asked his girlfriend.

“If I’d known this would turn into work for both of us I wouldn’t have agreed to it.” Molly sighed as she approached the bed closest to her. She carefully pulled back the soiled covers to reveal more of the skeleton. There were all manner of stains around the bones which Molly was sure she could identify in proper lab conditions but it was hard to tell when she didn’t even have any light other than the two she and Sherlock were carrying, but she was sure she could recognise the stains near the skull as old blood stains. Molly knelt next to the bed and started to examine the skeleton, careful not to leave any fingerprints or ruin any evidence. After all, for all intents and purposes this was one big crime scene.

“Well, obviously I won’t know anything for sure unless I do a proper examination but from what I  _ can _ tell, these bones belonged to a female, around 10 to 12 years and she’s been dead circa… 50 years.” Molly said in astonishment.

“What can you tell about the cause of death?” Sherlock asked, shining a light on the blood stains on the pillow.

“The bones are all intact, although there seems to be some remodelling here and there, possibly from old injuries, but I would say whatever killed this girl wasn’t anything related to physical violence.” Molly stood up and dusted her hands and knees off.

“Do you think they’re all the same?” Sherlock wondered, his light hovering over the different skulls.

Molly gave a little sigh and took her time to examine all 32 skeletons in the beds. When she was done she was nearly brought to  tears. “All girls. The youngest, I would say, was around 5 years old, the oldest was about 14, give or take. They all died around 50 years ago, I’m going to assume that they have approximately the same time of death. Nothing else makes sense.” She told him of her findings.

“What killed them?” Sherlock whispered more to himself.

“That’s not all.” Molly wrapped her arms around herself, feeling colder all of a sudden. “Sherlock, there’s extensive bone remodelling on each and every single one of these…” She stopped, looking for the right word to describe their findings. “…corpses. I believe these girls might have been abused while they were still alive.”

“Molly you said those girls died around 75 years ago. Even if the killer was still alive, the statute of limitations on abuse is long gone. But if this is murder, and the murderer is still alive then it doesn’t expire.” Sherlock clarified. “But what killed them? It clearly wasn’t fire. There are no burn marks anywhere, not to mention everything around the bodies would have been burnt to ash, possibly with the rest of the house. So poison?” He looked at Molly.

“Possibly.” She shrugged, looking around the room for any other evidence. “What was that?!” Molly exclaimed turning around to look at the stairs they’d come up from earlier. There was a moaning sound heard in the floor below them.

“Probably a strong wind through a window, Molly, calm down.” Sherlock reassured, still looking around the room.

“Really?” She turned her light on Sherlock.

“What?” He asked, confused by her tone.

“We just found the remains of 32 young girls that died in here 75 years ago. They were never laid to rest. This is the part in the horror movie where they rise up and attack us or when their ghosts try to drown us in the pool, you decide, but I’m getting out of here with all my limbs intact.” Molly declared, turning around and heading for the stairs.

“Don’t be ridic-” Sherlock started before he was interrupted with a loud, shrill screech.

_ “Leave us!” _

“Okay, now I’m really leaving.” Molly was freaked out. She sped down the stairs as carefully as possible. Sherlock ran after her and caught her next to one of the master bedrooms on the third floor.

“Molly, wait. Okay the ‘ghosts’ are up in the attic let’s just search the bedrooms down here.” Sherlock suggested.

“Fine, but the next halfway spooky thing that happens, I’m getting out of  here.” Molly warned. Sherlock nodded and reached behind him to open a door. He turned around and walked into a doorway full of cobwebs.

Sherlock started fluttering his hands trying to shake the thin threads off him. “Off! Off! Get off!” He shouted in an almost panicked voice.

“Sherlock what’s wrong?” Molly was worried at the reaction he was having. Sherlock continued flapping his arms around and trying to wipe the spiders and their webs off. Molly approached him and tried to help him dust them off.

“Are they off?” He said in a calmer tone.

Molly couldn’t hold back the laughter. “Yes… they’re gone… mostly… Oh my… God… you really are… scared of spiderwebs.”

“I am not  _ scared  _ of them. They disgust me, intensely!” Sherlock argued.

“You’re scared, you sissy.” Molly continued laughing.

“I am not…woah!” Sherlock turned around to see…

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re scared, you sissy.” Molly continued laughing.

“I am not…woah!” Sherlock turned around to see mist.

Green mist pouring out from the walls. Sherlock’s eyes darted to the window, noticing that it was closed. But the mist kept rolling closer towards them and clouding. They could both see different shapes in the clouds. Fingers. A hand, then an arm. Molly took a step back as she started making out a face in the clouds. She looked over at Sherlock,

“Can you see this too?” She asked him.

“A face in the mist.” He answered, keeping the torchlight on the face of a bearded man. Another face, that of a beautiful young woman, was forming next to the first. The third shape, forming next to the second face, had… were those horns? They wondered. It was the face of a half-human creature but Molly wasn’t going to stick around to wait and figure it out.

“Sherlock, let’s go, now.” She whispered, not wanting those mist-eyes to look at her. The mist got closer and was inches away from Sherlock’s outstretched hand holding the torch, and then it disappeared. “What the hell was that?” She said.

“I don’t know. I don’t like not knowing.” Sherlock blew out a breath he had been holding.

“Sherlock, say what you want. This place is haunted and full of ghosts and I’m leaving.” Molly said through gritted teeth, trying to not completely lose her mind out of fear.

“Shh... Do you hear that?” Sherlock held up a hand to silence her and pointed out the door they had come through. She could hear it. There was a distant repetitive thumping. It was steady, rhythmic and sounded wooden. It was coming from the hallway outside the bedroom. Sherlock left the bedroom, carefully avoiding any cobwebs that were still attached to the frame. Molly followed him out, staying behind him and keeping him between her and whatever was making that noise.

The floorboards in front of them creaked slowly and they both shone their lights in the direction they heard the sound coming from. There was nothing there.

“Look at the dust.” Sherlock whispered to her. Her eyes drifted down to the floor where small wisps of dust were rising in time to the thumps.

“Footsteps?” Molly guessed. Sherlock nodded. The footsteps were getting closer now and they could actually see the footprints appearing in the dirty floor. The prints got closer, Molly and Sherlock moved their light beams up and down trying to look for anything that was making the prints but there was nothing. The prints appeared about a foot in front of Sherlock and then they stopped. Molly waited to feel whatever was walking towards them bumping into them, but the impact never came.

She released the breath she’d been holding and focused on her boyfriend in front of her. “We. Are. Leaving.” She deadpanned.

_ “Mu-u-ummy?”  _ They heard behind them. They turned around and saw a pale little girl, in a pale blue dress.

_ “Mu-u-ummy?”  _ The little girl took a shaky step forward and looked around the hallway. Her voice chilled Molly to the bone and she felt Sherlock stiffen behind her.

_ “Mu-u-ummy?”  _ Molly wanted to run but she couldn’t, she was stuck in place. Her feet wouldn’t move no matter how loud her brain shouted at her to.

_ “Mu-u-ummy?”  _ The little girl peeked into the bedroom they had just come out of but apparently decided that what she was looking for wasn’t there. She turned around and lifted her eyes to Molly.

_ “Mummy?” _ She asked her looking Molly dead in the eyes. Molly’s mouth went dry as she looked back at the girl.  _ “Mummy!” _ The girl said happily, running towards Molly and hugging her legs. Molly clapped her hand to her mouth, stopping herself from screaming aloud. Terrified would have been an understatement to describe how Molly was feeling in that second. She could actually feel the little girl’s arms hugging her knees, the same way her nieces did when she saw them, except that they were ice cold. Tears formed in Molly’s eyes and she felt like she was going to be sick. She felt Sherlock squeeze her shoulder and she turned to look at him. His face was almost as pale as the little girl’s and she knew that he could she the ghost as well.

“Help me, please.” Molly mouthed to Sherlock. Her arm went slack and the little girl slipped her hand into Molly’s. Molly felt like she was going to faint. Sherlock slowly lowered himself to the girl’s level, steeling himself for what he was about to do.

“Hello.” He whispered, his mouth going dry and his mind blanking on what to say next. The little girl’s head was pressed against Molly’s knee, her face turned away from Sherlock. “Do you want to stop hugging your mummy for a second?” he suggested to the ghost.

The little girl turned her face towards him. She looked at him, innocently, then she smiled. Sherlock smiled back at her, but she was still holding onto Molly. Then her eyes darkened, turned completely black and her mouth opened in an angry grin. Her hands balled into fists and she finally let Molly go, who took two shaky steps backwards and steadied herself against the wall.

_ “NO!” _ The little girl screamed, her ghostly screech echoing along the hall. Sherlock stood straight in an instant, grabbing Molly and pushing her along the hallway in front of him.

“Move!” He shouted at Molly, keeping his eye on the ghost girl, before he followed Molly. They both rushed down the stairs but stopped on the landing forking out to the side canopies.

“What the hell is that?” Molly choked pointing her light up to the chandelier. Sherlock followed her line of sight and looked up to see a dark shadow hovering somewhere next to the chandelier. They waited to see what it was going to do, Molly, for one, not wanting to anger anymore spirits. She glanced behind her to see if the little ghost girl was following them. The stairs behind them were clear and Molly turned around just in time to see the dark shadow rushing towards them. Sherlock pushed her aside and she fell back, hitting her head. She heard a thump somewhere near before she lost consciousness.

**********

Molly came around some time later, looking around her. It was easy to find her flashlight a few feet away as it was the only light source in the whole place. She sat up and reached over for the light, shining it around her in case something was approaching her. She remembered the dark shadow and shined her light over to the chandelier but there was nothing there. She breathed a sigh of relief and looked around to see where Sherlock was but he wasn’t anywhere on the landing.

“Sherlock?” She called loudly. There was no answer. She called twice more before giving it up as a lost cause. Then she remembered the torch. She stood up slowly, and turned off her light. She immediately saw a light streak  at the bottom of the stairs. She turned her torch on again before slowly descending the stairs. The medical part of her mind reminded her to take it easy as she had just been lying on the floor unconscious a minute before and could easily have suffered a concussion, if not a major one. She took her time with the stairs, calling out Sherlock’s name again and again but he never answered. She reached the bottom of the stairs where the torch was and picked it up, shining the light around the floor of the entrance hall. Sherlock was lying face up, eyes closed a few feet away.

Molly rushed over to him, kneeling beside his head and looking for any blood that might have been coming out. She took the torch and shined it on his curls looking for any bruises or wounds that he might have. When she was convinced that there were no visible injuries, she took his head and rested it in her lap, stroking his curls while she shone the torch around the room looking for anything that might be approaching them. There was nothing and she breathed a sigh of relief. Sherlock groaned as he started coming back to consciousness.

“Molly?” He asked freezing in the darkness.

“Yes, Sherlock it’s me and take your time, but once you can stand let’s just get the hell out of here.” Molly whispered, dropping a kiss on his forehead. Sherlock sat up slowly, groaning.

“Fine. But we should probably head straight to hospital. I’m not thoroughly convinced I don’t have a concussion and my rib and arm hurts, though they’re definitely not broken.” Sherlock groaned. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head when I pushed you?” He asked, reaching around to stroke her hair, but Molly knew he was checking the back of her head and neck.

“A little dizzy but I’m fine, let’s go.” Molly insisted, taking his hand in hers. “Please.” She whispered. “Before that little girl thinks I’m her mummy again, Sherlock, please, I nearly died of fright.” Molly begged.

“I know, that was…” Sherlock couldn’t find a word to describe that experience. He stood up carefully before he turned and offered her hand to him. Molly took his hand and stood. She dared glance behind them at the large staircase, though in the dark she couldn’t really see anything, she was convinced they were safe.

Another strong, cold, wind swept through the foyer and a shrill scream followed.

_ “Leave us.”  _ They heard.

Sherlock quickly opened the front door, and pulled Molly out behind him. Once they were safely out of the front garden and walking back up the hill towards Bart’s. After they had both been seen by a doctor, Molly absolutely fine and Sherlock with just a minor concussion, which easily happens when you fall down a one storey staircase, they were cleared to leave.

That night, Molly couldn’t get a wink of sleep. Mostly because she had to make sure Sherlock was woken up and coherent every two hours to make sure he didn’t have any brain damage. But also because she kept thinking about the skeletons in the attic of the Garrison Manor and the little ghost girl that had been searching for her mother. She wondered if her skeleton had been one of the 32 they found in their beds or if she had been another victim.

The third time she woke Sherlock up, around 4 a.m., she did it what more motive than the two previous times.

“Wake up, Sherlock.” She shook his shoulder.

He grunted in response. “What’s your stupid question now?” He rolled around and smiled at her sleepily.

Molly thought for a second. “What is Mycroft’s full name?”

“Mycroft Reginald Aubrey Holmes.” Sherlock answered with a grin. “Though he’d absolutely love it if you told him you found his birth certificate, rather than telling him I told you if the topic ever comes up.”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about what happened to those children?” Molly asked before he could fall back asleep.

“Of course I am, but I’m asleep.” Sherlock muttered.

“Since when does your mind not dwell on questions just because you’re asleep?” Molly laughed. He heard that it didn’t come from deep inside her like it usually did.

He sat up with a sigh and put an arm around her. She leaned into him, resting her head onto his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” He asked her.

“That girl was looking for her mother. She’s not going to rest until she finds her mother.” Molly said quietly.

“Molly, that was… I don’t even know what that was.” He went over the incident again in his head.

“It was a ghost, Sherlock. The ghost of a little girl who was looking for her mother and has probably been looking for her for the last 50 years, if not more. You saw what that little girl did when you tried to get her to let go of me. You can’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious to find out what happened to her.”

Sherlock was very reluctant to admit that he had seen a ghost but the current evidence he had pointed only to that. “And you can’t tell me that you would be satisfied with just me taking and solving the case. You want to be my assistant on this.” He diverted the conversation.

“Only because I know you won’t take this seriously, you have absolutely no knowledge of the supernatural, and the older the death is, the better the pathologist has to be to get the autopsy right.” She smiled. It was a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“A lot of evidence has already been lost and we don’t even have the identities of the victims, and we most probably won’t.” Sherlock argued.

“Mmm, you’re probably right.” Molly said, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling down his chest to settle into bed. “This is more of a case for the  _ Ghostbusters. _ ” She smiled.

“I still don’t understand that reference.” He rolled his eyes, settling in next to her. “I might be inclined to sit through if you ridiculous movies if you do that thing with your tongue tonight though.” He tried to convince her.

“You have a concussion.” She argued. “You need to go back to sleep, doctor’s orders.”

“Too bad you’re not my actual doctor, I always had a bit of a fantasy like that.” Sherlock chuckled, tracing shapes on her shoulder.

“Sherlock, go to sleep or you will become one of my patients.” Molly muttered into his chest.

“Goodnight, love.” Sherlock kissed her forehead, bringing the sheets up to cover both of them properly.

**********

When Sherlock woke up the next morning he was alone. He rolled out of bed, pulled on a t-shirt and his dressing gown before going out into the kitchen. Molly wasn’t there either nor did she seem to be anywhere else in the flat. As usual, his morning tea was waiting for him on a tray in the living room. As he fixed his mug, he went over the previous night in his head, filing things away in his mind palace. He wouldn’t admit it to Molly the previous night but he was extremely intrigued by the mystery they had uncovered at the manor.

He had just finished scribbling the details on pieces of paper and sticking them to his evidence wall when he heard Molly opening the front door. He was surprised, however, to hear three sets of footsteps coming up the stairs. When Molly opened the door he could see John and Mary standing behind her on the landing, all three of them holding boxes full of, as far as he could tell, police case files.

“What are those?” Sherlock asked slowly.

“These.” Molly indicated her box. “Are all the unsolved case files, opened in the last hundred years in London that match one or more of the  _ riveting  _ features of the intriguing mystery we uncovered last night.” She explained proudly. “We have everything from a robbery a hundred years ago to missing persons files all the way up to 3 years ago when the last owner of the house apparently died without a will or an heir, leaving the house to fall into the hands of the government.”

“Interesting. Any inkling to who the girls might have been.”

“Not yet. Lestrade called in a favour and we should have all the documents relating to the house in a few hours. We know that it was privately owned up to three years ago but it could have served as a hundred and one things so they should give us better insight.” Mary jumped in, dumping her box in front of the couch, taking a seat and started fishing out the files and sorting them.

“How did you get yourself roped into this again?” John asked, dropping his box in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock muttered something that no one could really hear.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” John asked, clearly mocking him.

“It was a… thing, with Molly.” Sherlock skirted the question.

“You mean you bet her that you’d prove ghosts aren’t real and you came out screaming because you got spider webs on your coat.” John laughed.

“I did not scream and I haven’t lost the bet yet.” Sherlock countered, glancing at Molly.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t tell him?” She asked.

“The same way I knew that you knew that I would work the case.”

“I wouldn’t love you any other way.” Molly put down her box on the coffee table, dropped a kiss on his cheek, before she sat down and started helping Mary with sorting the files.

“You know, even with all of these files, we don’t have enough to solve these cases without going back to the manor, right?” Sherlock asked Molly.

“I know.” Molly took a deep breath before she answered. “It’s not going to be my most favourite thing to do in the world but I’m not going to let it stand in the way of us solving this case.” She told him. Truth be told she had been preparing herself to go back into that house since the previous night because all she wanted to do right now was make sure those girls that had been clearly murdered got the justice they deserved.

“Very well, we’ll take a trip back there tomorrow night. Should give us all enough time to read through these files.” Sherlock said, picking up the first file.

“Really, Sherlock?” John asked looking very irked.

“What John?” Sherlock was confused.

“Of all nights, you want to go exploring a haunted manor tomorrow night?” He asked incredulously.

“What’s wrong with tomorrow night?” Sherlock wondered. John, Mary and Molly shared an uneasy look between them.

“It’s Halloween.” John explained.

“So…” Sherlock trailed off, only glancing at John and then saying his expression. “Not you too? You aren’t going to tell me that you believe in this superstitious nonsense too, are you?”

“Well, I have no fool-proof way of proving the existence of ghosts, one way or another, but I’d rather not tempt fate.” John insisted.

“Mary?” Sherlock turned to the blonde, asking her with one word if she was willing to join the expedition to the haunted manor.

“What and miss all the fun, let’s face it, even if we don’t get a haunting it’ll still be the best way to spend Halloween.” Mary laughed.

“Well that means I should put the proton blaster on charge.” Molly joked as she perused another file. Everyone except Sherlock laughed.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Despite John’s repeated objections, on Halloween night they got ready to go exploring a haunted manor.

“This is absolutely ridiculous and stupid.” John said for the umpteenth time as they pulled up in front of the house.

“You’re ridiculous and stupid.” Sherlock teased the shorter man. “John you invaded Afghanistan, are you going to tell me you are more afraid of supposed dead spirits?”

“There’s a reason all of the residents that have ever lived in this house have either mysteriously disappeared, died, or left within a year of moving in.” John argued fiercely.

“I’ll leave you to your deductions. I’m glad to see your wife doesn’t hold to the same ridiculous notions that you do however.” Sherlock threw a smile towards Mary.

“Boys, stop bickering and let’s get this over and done with.” Molly interjected, handing out the high power torches. Sherlock climbed the front steps and tried to open the door but found it locked.

“Did you lock it again after we left?” Molly asked him.

“No.” Sherlock smiled at her. He truly loved it when Molly got suspicious about the right thing. He knelt in front of the door and whipped out his tools to pick the lock again.

“That means someone locked it behind us.” Molly deduced.

“Small window of opportunity narrows down the list of suspects.” Sherlock continued.

“Hang on, you said the skeletons you found were around 50 years old, do you really think whoever is responsible is still hanging around here?” John asked.

“Not necessarily.” Sherlock and Molly said together.

“Either way, it would be very hard to believe that the person who holds the keys to this place didn’t know about the skeletons, and they clearly didn’t report it. That sounds like conspiracy after the fact.” Mary smiled. John gaped at his wife. She shrugged. “I’ve been watching a lot of law shows lately. It gets boring when the baby’s asleep and I’m not tired.”

Sherlock stood triumphantly as the door creaked open, standing aside to let the others in.

“So we know those girls were killed in the attic, and you had a look around the third floor, right?” John confirmed, shining his light around to take in all the details in the grand hall.

“Yeah.” Molly answered. “I think we should start with the downstairs first, this time.” She suggested.

“I agree.” Sherlock interjected, walking towards the side canopy and further into the house, behind the staircase, kicking up the dust as he walked. The other’s followed him, trying to keep to his footprints as much as possible. They all knew how sherlock got when there was something interfering with evidence. He led them to an open doorway that led to what seemed like a drawing room. Sherlock found a light switch and turned it on, illuminating the whole room.

“Interesting.” Sherlock muttered.

“What is?” Molly wondered, turning off her torch.

“The lighting. It’s quite modern, despite the old style of the house.” He spoke to the room in general, his eyes sweeping over the room.

“How modern though? This place looks like it had been abandoned for quite a while.” Mary wondered.

“It has. I’d say it’s been at least 5 years since this place has been inhabited. But look at the lights in the chandelier. Some of them are the old tungsten bulbs.” Sherlock pointed out. “They’ve been obsolete for quite some time now, but there’s a mix.”

“The longer, brighter ones.” Molly noticed.

“Yes, exactly. Much more recent  _ but  _ still old. Halogen, not L.E.D.” The detective continued. “So possibly longer than 5 years.”

“The phone looks quite old.” John noticed, walking closer to the device and taking a photo of it on his smart phone.

“What are you doing?” Mary asked, wondering why her husband was taking the photo.

“Google.” John answered, tapping away at his phone. “Light bulbs might be a little vague, but I had this patient a few months ago who mentioned he was a telephone collector.”

“What?” Sherlock chuckled.

“Yeah. The same way people collect stamps, he collects old telephones. Anyway, he told me that each phone model had distinguishable design features to identify them. So I figure if we can get a date of release on this particular model we can get a more accurate time frame.” John explained.

The phone suddenly rang and everyone turned to look at it. John took a step back away from it, looking like he was scared the thing might jump him. After the third ring Sherlock stepped up and answered the phone. Molly gaped at him.

“Are you insane?” She said. Sherlock paid her no notice and spoke into the receiver.

“Hello?”

On the other line, a worn yet delicate voice spoke. It reminded Sherlock of his grandmother’s voice.  _ “I’m always here for you, Pattycakes. Watching you.”  _ She said.

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked.

_ “Bad little children must be punished!”  _ Her tone changed instantly from sweet to threatening, before she hung up. Sherlock put the receiver back in it’s place thoughtfully.

“What did they say?” Mary asked.

“Bad little children must be punished.” Sherlock repeated slowly, looking over at Molly and silently communicating with her.

“Must have something to do with the girls upstairs.” Molly made the same connection he did. “How were they punished though?”

“I don’t know. But I have a feeling that we’re going to find out, somewhere in here.” Sherlock started wandering about the room again. “Take a photo of any half interesting thing you find. It may be possible that there’s more than one case to be solved here.”

They spread out, looking into every nook and cranny. Molly was searching next to the fireplace when she noticed a perfectly straight crack in the wall immediately next to it. Molly took a closer look, realising that the crack went all the way down to the floor but stopped about two thirds up the wall. She ran her fingers carefully along the molding that ran around the whole room, finding a part of it that was loose. She wiggled it, but it didn’t come off like she thought it would.

“Sherlock, I think I found something.” Molly called. Sherlock crossed the room to come and stand next to her. “Look at that crack. It’s perfectly straight.” She said pointing to the wall and following the crack with her finger. “And these too.” She showed him the ones in the molding.

“Too straight and too close to be random.” Sherlock agreed. “Step back, I need to try something.” He told her before he got down on all fours and switched on his torch. He put the light to the wall, where it met with the floor. He ran the torch along the floor, keeping it against the wall, keeping an eye on the light. As he ran the torch past the crack in the wall, the light the was being stopped by the wall, dispersed into a horizontal crack between the floor and the wall. “Brilliant.” Sherlock whispered, looking up at the molding as he sat up.

“What?” Molly asked. Sherlock stood up and kissed her.

“You’re getting good at this. It’s a door.” He announced as he pressed the bit of molding into the wall. A horrible creaking sound echoed through the room and John and Mary came to take a closer look. The door fell back to reveal a dark stairwell.

“It doesn’t get any creepier than secret stairs.” John muttered a little nervously.

“No it doesn’t.” Mary smiled excitedly, turning on her torch and leading the group up the stairs. They climbed up one storey to another door. Mary forced the door open and they walked into what looked like a child’s playroom.

“Sherlock, look.” Mary pointed out the carpet. It was clearly supposed to be blue but there were dark stains on it.

“Bad little children must be punished.” Sherlock repeated, remembering the voice’s words, his eyes ghosting over the blood spatters on the wall.

“Oh my God, look.” Molly whispered, pointing to the corner opposite them. There was a glow emanating from a boy playing with a wooden top in the corner. A few steps away there was another boy looking on the first.

_ “What are you doing, Henry?”  _ The boy that was standing asked the boy, Henry, who was playing.

_ “Playing with my new present.” _ Henry answered, mesmerised with the colourful patterns blurring in front of him, until the top slowed to a stop.  _ “Would you like a turn, Jonah?” _

_ “No.”  _ Jonah said, sounding bored. He walked over and took the top in his hand.  _ “I want all the turns.”  _ Jonah raised his arms with the spinning top before he brought them down, hitting Henry in the face. Henry fell back, trying to block the blows with his arms. Jonah continued hitting Henry. They heard a crack and saw the ghostly blood splatters fall on the stains on the carpet and the walls.  Henry’s wails stopped and the two boys faded away into nothingness.

Sherlock, John, Mary, and Molly watched the ghosts in horror. John was the first to clear his throat.

“Well, Jonah seems like a bright ball of sunshine, doesn’t he?” He said without a hint of amusement.

“None of the skeletons upstairs had anything to indicate an attack of that nature.” Sherlock said quietly, looking at Molly for confirmation.

She shook her head. “No. And no boys.” Molly confirmed.

“So unless the body was moved out of the house. There’s one more we’ve yet to find. With a bashed in skull.” Sherlock sighed. He moved across the room to the bookcase that was standing opposite the door they had come in. He studied the spines of the books sitting on the shelves, all covered in dust to the point where the lettering was indistinguishable. Except for one. The spine for  _ Moby Dick _ was clean. Sherlock fingered the book, wondering why a murderer, or even a simple trespasser would wipe this book clean. He pulled the book out and Sherlock was pushed forward, falling onto the floor.

He looked up to see that he was surrounded by bookcases everywhere. Old dusty tomes piled up high upon shelves lining the walls of the entire room. He peeked behind him to see whether Molly and the Watsons had followed him but he only saw more books. “Molly?” He called.

Back in the children’s playroom, Molly, Mary and John were staring dumbstruck at the bookcase Sherlock had just been standing at a moment before.

“What happened? Where did he go?” Molly gasped with wide eyes. She was trying hard not to panic, except her boyfriend had just completely disappeared while they were in a haunted house. She went to examine the bookcase he’d been standing next to.

“It’s just too bad we don’t have a Great Dane that’s scared of his own shadow.” John muttered as he joined Molly by the bookcase.

“Revolving bookcase.” Mary declared. “It has to be. It’s always the revolving bookcase in Scooby Doo. Did you see which book Sherlock pulled out?” She asked.

John noticed the dusty bindings. Sherlock had taught him a lot about dust. “How ironic. The dick picked  _ Moby Dick _ .” He chuckled, pulling out the book. They felt the air whoosh around them and were pushed forward, before they made contact with the floor.

“Nice of you to join me.” Sherlock’s voice echoed in the library, startling Molly, actually making her scream. “Sorry.” He said, finding the light switch and turning it on.

“We really should have looked for the light switches the last time we were here.” Molly muttered. “It’s decidedly less scary in the light.” She told him as he helped her up.

There was a whisper in the air. Everyone looked around to see where it might be coming from but there were no windows and only one closed door, apart from the revolving bookcase behind them. The whisper turned into a moan, and it kept building, the wind growing stronger around them, Molly’s hair whipping around her face. The sound turned into a scream and then a shriek, a hideous soul-rending shriek. The wind nearly knocked Molly off her feet and she held onto Sherlock to stay upright. There were other sounds they could hear around the shriek. The cry of a baby. A scream, different from the first, like someone was being choked. A glass, breaking, shattering into a million pieces. And then it stopped. The wind died down and the silence that fell over them was almost deafening.

“Still think ghosts don’t exist?” Molly turned to Sherlock.

“We don’t have all the facts yet.” Sherlock muttered, though he was clearly shaken.

“Can we please just get out of here? I love libraries but this place is giving me the creeps, and it doesn’t look like there’s going to be anything here for us to find.” Molly asked, looking at the dusty tomes, covered in webs.

“The only door is locked from the outside. So we either leave the way we came or find another way out.” Sherlock answered, glancing around the room to see if there was any other possible way out. Sherlock sauntered back to the far side of the library, checking between the bookcases for other hidden doors. John followed to help but stopped halfway when he saw something on the large table.

“Uh-oh. Ouija Board. Think that means there were kids messing around in here with this thing?” John called at his best friend across the room.

Before he could hear his answer, there was a scream and they looked back to see that one of the bookcases had disappeared and in its place was a large gaping hole. Sherlock recognised Molly’s scream and immediately realised that she had fallen into the hole. Sherlock ran over, saw that it was actually a slide and all but jumped in after her.

John and Mary stood there, dumbstruck.

“Did he just jump in after her?” John asked his wife with a knowing smirk.

“Yep.” Mary nodded with a smile.

“If he ever tells me he doesn’t love her again-” He started.

“Bullshit.” Mary giggled. She took a step closer to the hole and shined her torch down the slide. “Are we going in after them, or what?”

“I suppose it’s not worth looking for another way out.” John sighed. “Ladies first then?” He offered.

“What and break your fall?” Mary teased.

“Right. Soldiers first then.” John nodded before he stepped up to the slide to go down it.

Sherlock didn’t know what was waiting for him at the bottom of the slide except a possibly hurt Molly. But he didn’t care because the possibility of Molly being hurt was enough to keep him from thinking about the cobwebs that were clinging to him in various places. The slide twisted around corners but Sherlock was picking up too much speed to keep track. He felt a gush of cold air before the slide ended and he fell, face first, into the dirt.

“Glad you could join me.” Molly giggled from somewhere on his right. She actually giggled. Sherlock sighed with relief, knowing she was all right. He heaved himself up and went over to hug her.

“Are you alright or just becoming hysterical?” He asked when he’d released her.

“I’m trying not to think about that much.” She answered not so sure of the truth.

Sherlock nodded, realising what she meant. “I’m starting to think this house isn’t as abandoned as we initially believed and I think someone is trying to stop us from figuring those murders out.” He looked around the garden they had landed in, searching for a way back to the house.

There was the sound of metal clanging and a whoosh from behind them. Sherlock and Molly both turned around to see John lying on the floor, face down. Another metal clang and Mary followed him down the slide, managing to elegantly land on her feet  rather than ending up face down in the soil like all the others. John gaped at her giving her an expression as if to say  _ how the hell did you manage that? _

“Let’s just chalk it up to experience.” Mary shrugged.

“Right. Another thing I don’t know about.” John muttered as he dusted off his jeans. He walked over to where Molly and Sherlock were standing, Mary following him.

“Where to next?” Mary asked, but her voice trailed off at the end as all four turned to see a light being turned on in a room that led to the garden through a set of large French doors with shattered glass. The doors flew open and the small group fell against the wall next to the doors, in the shadows. They held their breath as they waited to see who, if anyone, was coming out into the garden, hoping they were not discovered. A cold wind blew from inside the house, blowing away the dead leaves and any other debris revealing a stone path underneath it. The clacking of heels could be heard, joined almost immediately with the sound of footsteps in flatter shoes. Sherlock deduced they might have been a man’s. The couple walked out, the man helping the woman down the three steps that led into the garden. Once the group got a proper glance of the couple they could tell that they were wearing wedding clothes. She had a large white, ball-gown like dress, and he was in morning dress. They were both glowing, yet Molly could see right through the couple. They kept strolling until they reached the boundary wall and then they disappeared.

Molly, who was the second closest to the door, after Sherlock who had an arm draped across her front holding her back to the wall, noticed that it had gone slightly darker than it had been a second before. She squeezed Sherlock’s fingers in hers, making him relax as she did so. Once he had lowered his arm she took a careful step forward, craning her neck around to try and glance at the door but it was closed, as it had been before the couple had strolled out, and it was dark. Although Molly would reckon that it was darker than it had been before. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Well we might as well go in.” Sherlock said carefully, taking note of Molly’s expression.

“Oh, yes, let’s just go traipsing back into the demon house.” John huffed sarcastically.

“Do you have a better idea?” Sherlock retorted, flashing his light into the shorter man’s eyes.

“Yes, find away around to the front and get out of this godforsaken place before it collapses around our ears.” John suggested angrily.

Sherlock huffed out a breath through his nose, trying to calm himself down. “Look, I know there doesn’t seem to be any explanation for what has happened so far-” Sherlock started trying to convince him before John interrupted.

“No shit, Sherlock.” John shouted.

“Fuck you, Watson.” Sherlock spat back.

Both men looked at each other for a second. Molly and Mary glanced at each other ready to throw themselves in between the two men if necessary. Sherlock and John started laughing, clearly the tension between the two had been diffused by just shouting at each other.

“You’ve been working on that for a while.” John chuckled at his friend.

“About as long as you’ve been hiding that little gem.” Sherlock answered.

“Idiots.” Mary and Molly muttered together. They both left the two men to their bickering as they climbed the steps back into the house. Mary shone her light across the walls looking for the light switch she knew had to be somewhere. She found it under some cobwebs, and turned it on, only a couple of bulbs lit up under the dust. The room was dominated by a large oak table, surrounded by dozen of chairs. Sherlock and John had followed the women into the room, taking in the same scene. The smell in this room was rotten. Horrible, like death and blood. Molly imagined it was the kind of smell one might encounter in the morgues of old. It reminded John of his medical bay during his service years after an incendiary bomb or an ambush. Sherlock was reminded of the one time he had gone into a slaughterhouse. They all looked around the room, searching for the source of the smell and found what they were looking for at the back end of the room. A gentle breeze wafted into the room from the open door behind them and there were three men hanging from the ceiling, swaying in the wind. The ropes that were holding them up were fraying just above their heads. The dead trio stared back at the four with cold, dead eyes as they continued to swing silently. The wind from behind them picked up and grew colder. The dead men burst into dust, falling to the ground, making the four choke. When they had finished coughing and looked back up, only the ropes were left hanging in the wind.

Sherlock stepped up to the spot where the dust had supposedly fallen but the piles of detritus that should have been there weren’t. He growled at the lack of physical evidence to prove that this wasn’t just an apparition as Molly would have all of them believe and indeed as he was starting to believe himself. But he wouldn’t let his mind go there. He refused to believe that ghosts existed and had taken full control of this house. Disgruntled, Sherlock stomped out of the dining room into what looked like the ballroom. The ceiling of this room was higher than the others on the second floor and Molly suspected that the gallery that wound its way high around the walls could be accessed from the second floor. The large chandeliers had lost their lustre under the years of dust and cobwebs. At either end of the room was a wide ornate fireplace, and above their mantles hung mirrors running as high as the gallery, their frames gilded yet dulled. There were suits of medieval armour at the sides of each of the four doors that led into the room and at regular intervals along the walls. As they spread out all along the room, marvelling at the magnificence of the room despite its current state of abandonment. They heard a monstrous scream coming from the side of the garden door and turned to see a ghostly figure dressed as a grounds-keeper. As he screamed he raised his shovel and charged towards Sherlock who was standing the closest of the four.

Sherlock was quick on his feet and grabbed the arm of a nearby suit of armour, raising it in defence as the ghost charged across the room. John pulled out his gun and aimed at the spectre, firing three bullets where its head was but they flew through him, without impact and the ghoul kept charging. Then, inches from Sherlock’s face, it disappeared. It took Sherlock’s mind a second to register the disappearance but when he did he noticed the muddy footprints the spirit had left behind him. He looked up at Molly across the room who had gone absolutely pale and looked like she might faint at any second.

“I’m fine.” He told her.

Molly nodded and spun around on her heel. She immediately regretted the motion as she lost her balance. Mary rushed to her, holding her up as she regained her senses. Sherlock and John were each taking the pulse rate at each of her wrists. Sherlock was satisfied that her blood pressure was returning to normal, and from what he could see so was John, but the detective didn’t release her, wanting the contact. Molly was about to turn and thank Mary when she noticed their reflection in the mirror in front of her. Her reflection, rather, because the other three people weren’t to be seen in the glass. She was different as well. Her frightened reflection was moving on its own. Molly recognised her reflection’s clothing as the same she’d been wearing two days earlier when she and Sherlock had first visited the house. But the way the other Molly was moving seemed strange to her. It was as if this other Molly knew exactly where she was and what she was doing. Molly suddenly remembered something disturbing about the first time she had come to this house.

_ She woke up on the stairs landing. This human body would do fine for the task she had in mind. The other male human wouldn’t do at all. He was a non-believer so she couldn’t control his mind. She made the brunette stand up and carefully walk down the stairs. It wouldn’t do to physically damage the vessel. Once she’d fully descended the stairs, she turned the body around to walk towards the ballroom. These two seemed intelligent enough to know what had happened to her after all these years and she was going to need their help to uncover the truth. She entered the ballroom and stood in front of the North Mirror. She didn’t understand what it was about this mirror but it had a tendency to show both past and future at times. She waited and waited until she saw the woman she had possessed in the mirror again. When she did see her she was surrounded by three other people. She recognised the tallest man as the same one that was lying on the floor in the entrance hall right this very minute. The other two she didn’t recognise but something in the mind of the human remembered them. She walked up to the mirror, took off her diamond ring (it was interesting that it had appeared on the finger of the human woman the moment she had possessed her) and used it to write on the glass. _

This Will Help

_ She wrote, before she reached down into her pocket and pulled out the item that would help them. _

Molly and the others continued to stare back at the mirror as the other Molly took a diamond ring and wrote on the mirror.

This Will Help

Molly realised that the other Molly must’ve hidden something on the mantle or somewhere near the mirror. She approached as she saw the other Molly take out a red-bound book and set it on the mantelpiece but Molly couldn’t find anything on the real mantle. She could see it in the reflection but not in reality. The other Molly seemed to realise the conundrum. Without missing a beat the Molly in the mirror picked up the book and passed it through the mirror, the glass rippling as if it were water. She dropped the book on the real shelf in front of Molly. She was almost afraid to touch it, lest it disappear. When she touched it, however it was truly solid. The reflection Molly nodded at her before she turned around and left the way she came, which Molly suspected was to leave her unconscious on the stair landing again. She picked the book up and flicked through the pages, slowly, so as to not damage the aged, yellow leaves.

She squinted at the faint cursive black words. There were dates in the margins, she realised as much but she couldn’t really decipher the other words. She realised Sherlock was standing next to her looking down at the pages. Sherlock fished in his pockets for a second and brought out his magnifying glass, snapping it open and handing it to her.

“This might help.” He offered, focusing the light of his torch onto the pages. Molly could see clearly now that the writing consisted of names and causes of death. She scanned page after page after page of murders going back as far as a hundred years. Sometimes there were no names at all, just words that referred to their relation to another victim such as daughter, son, wife, brother. In other places such additional details were given next to the name. Molly couldn’t believe how many people had lost their lives here. There were headings on some of the pages, where the author had given a title to a particular event where multiple people had been killed, such as ‘The Wedding of Mr and Mrs Beauchamp’.

“It’s a book of the dead.” She explained to the others as she flipped forward through more pages. “Every person who ever died in this house, their names and causes of death are listed here and hardly any of them are natural and even then, they could have easily been faked. Here’s Henry, cracked skull. And Jonah, asphyxiated.” She read.

“Same date.” Sherlock pointed out. “He must’ve been gotten rid of right after he took out Henry. According to this they were brothers.” He read over Molly’s shoulder. Sherlock took over from Molly, reading the next few names, and how they were murdered. John took over from him after a while and Mary later on, all sitting down in a circle on the floor, regardless of the dust. As they reached the end of the book, the wind started picking up around them again. They stood up, searching around them knowing that another apparition might happen again. In the wind they could hear sounds again, much as they had before.

_ A scream. _

_ A baby’s cry. _

_ A gun-shot. _

_ The clang of metal upon metal. Swords. _

_ The sound of a body hitting the floor. _

Then the voices joined in.

_ “I’m under the floor, buried under the floor. We’re here, find us. We’re under the floor.” _

_ “We’re up above. It stings. It burns.” Coughing. Children coughing. “Help us, it stings.” _

_ “Mummy? Where are you, mummy?” _

_ “I did as he asked. Help me. He’s coming to get me.” _

The voices grew in volume and in number, each revealing something about their death before the wind grew so strong and so loud that it drowned them out.

Molly felt something wrapping around her ankle, slimy and tight. She looked down but nothing was there, though she could still feel it. She shook her ankle, trying to shake whatever it was off. The sensation changed from that reminiscent  of a bug crawling up her leg, to that of a tentacle tightening around her limb, cutting off the blood flow, and again, feeling like a dry, bony, slimy hand clasping shut around the top of her sock. Then it stopped, just as quickly as it had started.

“You felt that too, then.” Mary surmised from Molly’s reaction. “Something around your leg?” She asked. Molly could see the confusion in the other woman’s eyes, or was it fear that she was trying to hide? Molly simply nodded to Mary.

Sherlock and John were standing next to each other, exchanging looks while their women talked. They both took a step forward, feeling something that felt like a body underfoot. They tried to leap away from it but were pushed and knocked over forward. They heard tiny, pattering footsteps and a giggle running away as if that of a mischievous child. From their reactions, Sherlock could tell that Molly and Mary had heard it as well and were shining their torches in the direction of the sound to see if there was anyone around, but there obviously wasn’t.

The wind hadn’t died down one bit and as Sherlock and John stood back up they staggered, struggling to keep their balance. They all looked at the wall and saw shadows dancing on the walls, which obviously didn’t belong to them. Sherlock instinctively hid Molly behind him. It seemed that as they named the victims listed in the book their spirits were awakened from some sort of slumber. The shadows grew wilder as one of them separated from the wall. They stood in shock as the black figure approached them, standing taller than Sherlock by about 6 feet. Its extremities were thin and pointed almost like sharp knives. It grew closer and closer and they started retreating slowly, hoping the shadow wouldn’t notice. It suddenly lunged forward, surrounding Sherlock and he disappeared amongst it. John pulled Molly and Mary away from it.

Everything around Sherlock darkened as the shadow surrounded him, engulfed him. He went blind. Trying to scream he realised he’d gone mute and shortly after he stopped hearing the screaming wind as he went deaf. The smell of brimstone disappeared as he lost his sense of smell as well. The only sense that remained was touch. He felt his skin grow cold and hard, almost like ice and it poured into him. Slowly his sense came back to him but it still felt as if the cold was coming from inside his core. He turned around and saw the other three staring warily at him. He sauntered over and it seemed to them as if Sherlock was his usual self, until they took notice of his eyes. Molly realised that the usual beautiful blue-green of his eyes that she had loved so much had now been replaced with black. Not even the whites of his eyes could still be seen.

He smiled his charming crooked smile as he approached them, the wind making the Belstaff flap at his ankles. Sherlock reached into his pocket confidently and pulled out an ornate dagger with a curved fork blade, etched with symbols and phrases. Part of the hilt covered Sherlock’s fist as he held it firmly, it looked like a demon’s claw guiding the hand of the holder. As he got closer he pointed the dagger at Molly. John pulled out his gun again and pointed it at Sherlock.

“John, no!” Molly screamed. He reacted instantaneously, moving his hand the slightest bit to the right and fired. Sherlock fell  back with the force that hit his right shoulder. John fired again and Sherlock nearly fell into the empty fireplace. They saw his eyes lighten and his skin returned to its normal colour as the shadow climbed back up the wall and disappeared into the ceiling. Sherlock stuck the dagger into the side of the fireplace firmly, in frustration.

“Christ, John! Did you really have to shoot me?” Sherlock groaned, favouring his right shoulder.

“You were about to stab Molly with a dagger!” The soldier exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.”

“A warning shot would’ve sufficed.” Sherlock suggested.

“You didn’t see your face. You looked ready to kill her.” John countered.

“Here, let me take a look at that.” Molly fussed over him, peeling away the coat, jacket and shirt from his shoulder. “I think it’s just a graze. Did the second one hit you?”

“No, and are you really tending to me after I just tried to kill you with a demonic dagger?” His brows knitted together.

“Yes. You may be a git but you’re a fantastic lover. I can’t afford to let you lose those hands.” She tried to joke it off despite her fear. She used the dagger that was stuck in the wall as leverage to help her stand. She pushed down on it and it gave way, releasing the back of the fireplace. It fell to the side, swinging on a hinge which creaked with rust as it moved.

Sherlock’s eyes perked up. He turned around to kneel and crawled into the small place, lighting his way with his torch. “It looks like a secret passage.” He called behind him, his baritone echoing off the walls. Molly sighed before she lowered herself to the floor and followed him.

“We should be getting you to a hospital, you git.” She called after him.

“We will as soon as we follow this secret passage. We’re close, Molly. I can feel it.” Came his voice from deeper within the tunnel.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go.” Mary told her husband as she got down on all fours and followed the other two.

“Oh brilliant! Let’s just all go down the rabbit hole then. Hmm, maybe this is all the Easter Bunny’s doing and there’s nothing more than a couple of easter eggs down there.” He muttered to himself, pacing the floor as he watched Mary’s backside disappear into the tunnel.

“John! Are you coming or not?” Sherlock’s voice called ahead. Of course the bloody git knew he wasn’t following them. He sighed before getting on his hands and knees and following the others. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock burst into a room through a wall. It wasn’t hard to break through seeing as a section of the wall had been set upon a hinge to allow entrance from the secret passage, which everyone was pleased to find grew to allow a person to stand as they walked along it. From the gentle slope the tunnel took and the length, Sherlock was able to determine that they had descended a full floor beneath the ballroom but further to the back of the house. The basement was incredibly light compared to the rest of the house. There were candles lit all around, which made Sherlock stop in his tracks. Lit candles generally meant someone was home. He motioned for the others to wait in the tunnel, but as usual, John pushed past the women, and followed Sherlock with his gun brandished in front of him, ready to shoot at any attacker.

Sherlock approached one of the candles, examining them further. He realised they were artificial lit by small bulbs which were incredibly warm and had started to go out in certain places across the room. John crossed the room and peeked into a corridor beyond and a lit room off it. He motioned that it was all clear and Molly and Mary jumped into the candlelit room. They followed John into the corridor and into a brightly lit room. This room was lit with white artificial light. It reminded Molly a bit of her lab back at Bart’s. The dazzling white tiles were another reminder. As was the gurney and the tray of doctor’s instruments. Molly did a double take, and spun around, taking in the whole room.

“It’s an operating lab.” Molly realised.

“Precisely.” Sherlock looked about the room opening and closing cupboards and drawers to see what was inside them.

“Makes you wonder what they do down here.” John whistled at the array of tools.

“You know I saw something in that book Mirror-Molly gave us. Some names had little symbols in them, kind of like the same ones on the drawers here.” Mary pointed to a set of small drawers.

“Yes I think I saw them to. Maybe they were like notes. You know maybe whoever did it catalogued different experiments that they did.” Molly suggested, pulling one of the drawers open, but they were all empty. Molly sighed. “This place is even more terrifying than I originally thought.”

“There’s another room next door. You might want to take a look at it.” John said from a corner of the room. Having not found anything they decided to follow him into the next room. They found themselves in a large dimly chamber with a pentagram drawn on the floor. There were melted candles at the five points and at the central intersection points. A charred circle was in the centre of the pentagram along with chains nailed to the floor. The symbol stood in front of an ornate stone altar. Sherlock walked up to it, careful not to step on the symbol. He might not truly believe in anything of the sort but after all that had happened tonight, and since he was already bleeding, he didn’t want to tempt fate. He stood in front of the altar taking in the details. There was a dark stain in the centre of the top where the blood has been absorbed into the stone. There was a strange looking implement at the head of the altar and he picked it up gingerly between his thumb and forefinger, careful not to prick himself on it.

Sherlock turned around and showed it to the others still standing by the door into the room. It was a dagger with a sharp blade, nothing unusual there. The strange thing about the implement he held at the tips of his fingers was the hilt. Needles, attached to the ends of tubes were worked into the hilt angled at such a way that  they would hit the veins in the arm of the wielder, collecting the blood that poured out onto the blade of the dagger. It was clear that it might have been the key instrument in a satanic ceremony.

“Oh my God.” Molly whispered, actually making the symbol of the cross. She wasn’t an especially devout religious person but she felt almost compelled to make the sign of the cross in this place. “Sherlock please put that thing down.” She asked looking away. He put it back down onto the altar and crossed the room again to come stand next to Molly.

Sherlock forgot to sidestep the pentagram as he had before. As his feet finally left the symbol a distant agonised screaming could be heard growing louder. It sounded like it was coming from the corridor and then the next room. Mary and John jumped away from the door as a man on fire ran through the room. His skin bubbled and cracked, falling away from his bones and leaving a fiery skull clattering to the ground. It bounced and rolled before it disappeared.

“That’s it. We’re leaving. Now!” Molly insisted. She turned around and rushed out the door. Sherlock ran after her, catching her around the waist in the makeshift operating lab.

“Molly, wait.” He insisted, stopping her in her tracks.

“No, Sherlock. What more do you need? You’ve been possessed and shot. You tried to kill me. You just saw a man running into that room, on fire and then he disappeared. What more do you need to believe that this place is haunted.” Molly screamed at him. She sobbed out a breath before she continued. “We have the book with the names, and the dates. So just save everything to your stupid mind palace and let’s get out of here before we end up dead.”

Sherlock nodded, understanding that Molly truly was terrified despite her strength in not showing it. Sherlock led them out the way they came until they got to the ballroom. From there they exited into the entrance hall and left the house completely, though not before all four of them noticed the door slamming shut of its own volition. They rushed down the hill, putting some distance between them and the house, before hailing a cab and taking it to the hospital.

**********

Four hours later they were sitting in the living room at 221B with Lestrade, explaining to him everything that had happened at the Garrison Manor. They showed him the book and he was able to track down some of the victims buried within the records of New Scotland Yard, combined with those he had already passed along to them the day before.

“Here.” Sherlock said at one point. “50 years ago that house was used as an orphanage for girls. This lists 27 girls but it’s not a far leap from the 32 we found.” He handed Molly a piece of paper from one of the files. “Do those ages match up with some of the ones we found at the house?”

“Yes, I think so.” Molly frowned in thought as she consulted the notes she had written up after their first visit to the house.

“I found something. The Jamiesons owned the house around 30 years ago. Look at the names of the children.” John pushed a file towards Mary.

“Jonah, Henry and Clara. We only saw the two boys though.” Mary told her husband.

“Yes, but take a look at the page before that. Their mother died just a month before the dates besides Jonah and Henry in the death book.” John pointed out.

Lestrade flipped through the book that was sitting on the coffee table among the other papers. “Clara Jamieson is right here, a week before her brothers. I’ll get an arrest warrant for the dad. It’s not that long ago that we have no hope and if he is dead we should have a record of it.” He said as he dialled Sally’s number to inform her of the document he needed.

By the end of the night they had figured out who had been using the house as a location for satanic rituals and the orders for their arrests had been sent out. Apart from that, they’d also uncovered an illegal graveyard beyond the house that made up part of the grounds. Lestrade would be handing the file over to another office in the morning. But right now they all needed sleep. John, Mary, and Lestrade all said their goodnights and Molly started clearing up the mugs and plates from the living room. She yawned as she crossed into the kitchen, dumping the crockery into the sink and starting the water.

“Leave it. Come sit down.” Sherlock said, pushing out a chair for her to sit in.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Well, tonight was…” She wracked her tired mind for the right word.

“One of the best cases I’ve had in a while. Well, certainly a string of the more interesting cases. A string of 9’s. I’d say at least 10. Which makes 90 unless you forgot how to count.” He joked.

“Shut up, you jerk. You dragged me in there in the first place. And we both got possessed.” Molly countered.

“Yes but you put up with my craziness and followed me through the house patiently. And yes we did get possessed. Only the ghost that possessed you seemed to want to help. Whatever possessed me wanted to kill you. I’m sorry about that by the way.” Sherlock took her hand atop the table.

“Mmm.” She agreed. Stretching their joined hands and lowering her head onto her elbow tiredly.

“I have something for you.” Sherlock whispered, dropping a kiss on her head and placing a box on the table.

“What’s that?” Molly wondered, raising her head back up slightly.

“You won the bet. I have no other explanation for whatever went on in there except ghosts exist and I believe in them now.” He explained.

Molly lifted the lid of the box and pulled out what was inside. “Oh really?” She asked with a laugh as she looked down at the thrust-action vibrator in her hands.

“Yes. But I have one condition. You only use it when I’m away.” Sherlock warned.

“Fine. But you always have to make sure I have a fresh supply of batteries before you take on a case.” Molly offered.

“Done.” Sherlock agreed. “Now, let’s go to bed before I’m tempted to use it on you.” He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to the mods for creating this collection.


End file.
